


Trust Me

by sgtsebstan



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: But it doesn't happen, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, M/M, Songfic, Sort Of, talk of assisted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:41:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgtsebstan/pseuds/sgtsebstan
Summary: A gleaming, familiar smile twists cruelly and Geralt’s slow heartbeat skips, too distracted to notice the medallion beginning to tremble against his chest, nor the creature that stalks up behind him.A piercing scream.Everything goes black.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 363





	Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, not only my first fic for the Witcher but also my first fic in years actually published. Please be kind!  
> If you've ever seen it, this fic was very much inspired by The Devil's Carnivale (you can watch it on Youtube), specifically the Scorpion and the Frog scene. When I originally watched the Witcher, I got super excited because I thought Jaskier was the Scorpion, but I was VERY wrong. As much as I love Joey Batey now, I had not seen any of his previous work and he was not in The Devil's Carnivale - though I'm sure he'd have a blast in that role.
> 
> We're going to Marie Condo that canon shit as it does not spark joy.  
> The song + title is from the Scorpion and the Frog song in The Devil's Carnivale.

The Witcher knew he had made a mistake. The moment those words had left his mouth, guilt flooded his system, but pride had stopped him from chasing after the bard. If only he’d gone after him. Whatever had befallen the bard since that calamitous day would plague the Witcher for the rest of his days. He should have been there. That’s how he currently finds himself running through a crumbling castle, chasing the echoes of the bard’s voice - a haunting melody that seems to drift from around every corner, always just out of reach. 

Geralt stumbles into a room that is lit by candles sporadically placed, a soft glow not enough to permeate the darkness along the edges of the room, but no problem for the Witcher to lock onto a figure in the far corner from the entrance. 

A gleaming, familiar smile twists cruelly and Geralt’s slow heartbeat skips, too distracted to notice the medallion beginning to tremble against his chest, nor the creature that stalks up behind him. 

A piercing scream. 

Everything goes black.

***

He awakes in a different room, awareness rushing back to him as he flexes his hands and finds them bound separately above his head. His ankles have also been bound to the wall. Well, Geralt thought it was a wall. His struggle against his restraints causes the wood behind him to jerk to the side. A grunt leaves him when he realizes he’s tied to a wheel. The monster hunter immediately stills, lest he ends up upside down. The smell of blood is thick in the air.

A lute being strummed catches Geralt's attention, and he looks up to find familiar blue eyes staring back at him. Any relief of finally finding Jaskier vanishes with the bard’s appearance. His eyes glow in the darkness of the room. Too bright. His chestnut hair is dark and disheveled. His usual colorfully embroidered doublet and matching trousers replaced with a modest black ensemble, so unlike anything he’d worn before. His skin void of any color, as though he were a walking corpse. His eyes sunken, black bags heavy under them. Cheeks sallow. Lips blue. Unease twists in the pit of Geralt's stomach as his medallion hums against his chest.

“Jaskier,” falls off his lips in the barest of whispers.

The bard is lounging casually on a table across from the wheel, a smirk on his lips as he fingers the lute in his lap. He’s in his element, spread out with a leg propped up. A picture of lazy confidence. 

“Well, hello, Geralt of Rivia. Long time no see. Now,” here he hops down from the table and stalks towards Geralt, still plucking away at the strings of his lute, “last time I saw you, you had told me to fuck right off with Destiny.” He stops directly in front of where Geralt hangs. Due to his earlier struggles, he was tilted just slightly off from the center, but Jaskier has tilted his head so that their eyes are level. Well, almost level. Geralt is still a foot off the floor while pinned to the wheel. “Why then, are you chasing me halfway across the Continent?” 

He had. He had taken two decades of… friendship - he was foolish and too prideful to ever have acknowledged it before - and thrown it away in an instance of heartbreak looking to lash out at the closest thing. That’s why he was looking for Jaskier. He needs to tell him. Tell him what happened. Tell him - 

But time had obviously done a number on Jaskier. Or something had gotten to him in their time apart. Guilt ties itself into a knot in the pit of his stomach.

“Jaskier, what happened to you?” Geralt grinds out through clenched teeth. This was not the Jaskier he knew. 

“What happened to me?” Jaskier spins, his head tipping back with an outrageous laugh as he twirls. Too sharp, loud. Almost manic.

Electric blue meets gold.

“Why my dear Witcher, I hardly believe that’s any of your business, now is it?”

The knot twists tighter.

“Jaskier, please.”

“You know,” his face sobers, eyes empty of any life, “I followed you around like a fool for 20 years of my life. 20 years, Geralt! Do you know how much that is for a human? I spent half my life trailing after you, begging for scraps. I know you never signed up for a bard sniffing at your heels wherever you went, but you tolerated me. I built your reputation back up to the point you were earning your proper worth and not getting run out of towns. I never expected anything from you. Never expected you to care for me, not as I do.”

“And yet,” Geralt echoes words from what feels like another lifetime, “here we are.” 

That startles a chuckle out of Jaskier, his eyes dancing with amusement. 

“Are you telling me that you’ve been on this wild goose chase to hunt me down because you cared? You sure gave the opposite impression last we spoke.”

Geralt’s head bows with the weight of his guilt, but he forces himself to look up and meet Jaskier’s eyes after a moment. Even if it wasn’t his bard, he needs to get this weight off his chest. 

“Jaskier, you have to know.” His teeth grind together, the words hard to cough up now that he’s here. “I’ve always-” his mouth twists, but he pushes on. “I’ve always protected you.”

Jaskier chortles with a dangerous glint to his eyes, his fingers come to an abrupt stop on the lute. “Oh, my dear Witcher, I’ve never needed your protection.” 

Geralt blinks hard. If it wasn’t for the look on the bard’s face, perhaps in a different setting, he would have had a dozen examples ready to list of times the bard needed his saving.

The bard arches up onto the tips of his toes so that their faces were nose-to-nose. “I’ve been working on a new song, Witcher. Would you like to hear it? My companion seems to enjoy it, but it needs to be workshopped. You never had a problem in that area…” The last part was grumbled as he spun around, light as ever on his feet. 

Dancing across the room, he ends up back against the table he had sat on earlier. 

“Jaskier, I just want to talk,” Geralt feels like he’s begging at this point. He was so lost as to how they came to be here. Where Jaskier found this wheel, why he was in this castle, who his ‘companion’ was. None of it made any sense.

Jaskier clears his throat and settles into a comfortable playing position, his hand at the ready. He nods to something outside of the room and Geralt’s senses pick up on someone lingering in the hall. They stalk into the room and suddenly everything begins to make sense. 

Geralt grunts, pulling at his restraints more as the bruxa comes into the room, her lithe body moving with predatory grace. The wheel tilts this way and that with his struggles. She comes to stand next to Geralt, her hand coming up to stop the wheel from moving more. Now he’s listed to the left, closer to her face than he’d like.

Dread fills his gut as her mouth opens into a terrifying smile, fangs sparkling in the candlelight. Amber eyes slowly move across the room to land on a matching smile, the very same fangs glinting cheekily at him from the bard’s face.

“Ah, glad you’ve finally caught up, Geralt!”

“Jaskier-” Geralt chokes. His heart twisting in his chest something painful. Failure, despair, guilt. It ate him from the inside out until he felt aflame with shame. He let this happen. If he hadn’t pushed him away if he’d just been honest if he’d just told him. 

“None of that, dear, it’s far too late for that. Now, I did promise a new song,” a strum across the lute signals the start.

“ _You're a tough little tadpole to love  
Naughty lilies and lures  
Oh, I was knocked to the floor_”

Jaskier’s voice sounds sweetly melodic, almost like he was singing a lullaby to Geralt. The words, though known for some time by the Witcher, were surprising in their honesty. Again, his heart twists.

“ _Never tasted as sweet  
A poison as you have  
You're an urge that can never be cured  
You’re a bad little love,  
And I’m yours_”

The hypnotic lyrics swirl around Geralt as he’s spun back and forth to the rhythm of the song by the bruxa Jaskier had called in. The bard hops up from his spot on the table and dances closer, strumming all the while.

“ _So trust me, trust me  
Darling dear_”

Jaskier arrives in front of Geralt and follows him as he’s spun, kneeling, and swaying with him. The Witcher’s head spins.

“ _I'm so sincere  
There's no need to fear  
Trust me, trust me  
Honey, do  
Just like I trust you_”

The last words were spoken with lips pressed against his ear. 

“ _Love, you're a hard game to catch_ ”

And just like that, he’s gone again. His feet carrying him gracefully around the room in a mesmerizing dance. 

“ _You fight and refuse  
Oh, you're a wild little bruise_” 

Jaskier chuckles at was sure to be a memory of Geralt punching the bard the first time they met. Geralt could picture it clear as day, even as he hung upside down now. His blood slowly moves to his head, then back down as he is spun right side up again. If he were a normal human, he’d be past dizzy at this point. 

“ _Never tasted as sweet  
A poison as you have_”

Here, Jaskier winks at the bruxa controlling Geralt’s body, and the witcher almost startles at the responding laugh that trickles out from the vampire next to him.

“ _You know you never can hide  
You're a bad little love  
And you're mine_”

Blue eyes bore into his with something akin to hunger. Geralt had an awful feeling of where this was going.

“ _So trust me, trust me  
Darling dear  
I'm so sincere  
There's no need to fear_”

Jaskier swung back around in front of him, his back to him as he leaned against Geralt’s chest, his head falling back to lay on his shoulder. Geralt got a very up-close view of the new fangs poking out of Jaskier’s small button mouth at this angle. As well as the two dark marks on his neck as he arched back. Guilt roils in his gut. 

“ _Trust me, trust me  
Darling, do . . .  
Just like I trust you_”

A peck to his chin, and then he’s suddenly on the other side of the room from Geralt. The bruxa has stopped the spinning completely. The strumming on the lute has taken a sinister sound before Jaskier puts it down and unrolls a pack that was lying on the table. The sound of metal clanking together causes Geralt’s face to pinch. 

“ _So don't cry, crybaby  
All dressed in green_”

Jaskier spins around, twirling a knife around his long fingers. If this was any other situation, Geralt would have been impressed. If a little turned on. As it is, however, the knife sails through the air and lands with a thunk next to Geralt’s head. He had whipped his head to follow the knife and quickly looked back at Jaskier in disbelief. Was he trying to kill him? 

The Witcher’s stomach turned as the wheel began to spin again, back and forth, back and forth.

“ _How many kisses do you need?  
One for your tummy_” 

Another knife lands to his right, an inch from his side.

“ _One for your cheek_ ”

This one between his legs. Geralt grunts and sends Jaskier a look of warning. So help him, if he gets out of this- 

“ _One for the devil inside . . ._ ” 

Jaskier’s voice does something that makes Geralt’s stomach swoop even given the current situation.

“ _Of . . . me_ ”

All the air in Geralt’s chest leaves him as this knife finds its home, sinking into the strap holding his left wrist up.

Jaskier tuts disappointedly. “Well, I guess I have shit aim, still.” He shrugs at the bruxa none too apologetically.

The bruxa looks between the bard and the knife, then meets Geralt’s gaze. She doesn’t get a chance to scream, a scream that would have completely incapacitated the Witcher, before Geralt’s sunk the blade into her throat. It’s not enough to kill her, but enough to take her out of commission while Jaskier quickly helps Geralt down. 

“Phew, am I glad to see you. You’ve no idea what I’ve had to endure since accidentally being turned.” A strap falls away from one ankle and a foot meets the floor, the bard keeps on. “Not that it’s been absolutely horrid, but this woman could sure get up to some wicked action that would shock even Yennefer, chaos incarnate herself.” His right wrist falls free. “I honestly thought you’d given up on me, what with the number of clues I was leaving behind and still no sign of you. But alas, you finally showed up.” His other foot meets the floor as the last strap is off and then Geralt has Jaskier pinned to a wall, knife pressed up against his throat. 

Jaskier’s eyes fly open in surprise as his hands come up in surrender. “Whoa, Geralt, it’s me! Jaskier! Annoying bard who likes to follow you around and sing tales of your heroic quests? I was hoping we could catch up before we got to the slicing and dicing!” 

“What happened?” Geralt half-shouts through clenched teeth as several confusing emotions rush around inside of him. 

Blue eyes blink back at him. Jaskier settles a little more comfortably against the wall, staring imploringly up at Geralt with his signature puppy dog eyes - only marred by the points of fangs poking his bottom lip. “I was turned, Geralt.”

“That’s all you have to say?” He presses in closer with the knife, his forearm holding Jaskier in place.

Jaskier’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, a nervous tick of his that he was prone to do even while human. Geralt tracks the motion before meeting the bard’s gaze again. 

“Well, after the mountain,” both of them grimace, “I did what I thought you wanted and took myself off your hands. At least, I tried to.” He shrugs as that had obviously not worked out. “I headed to the coast as I said. Just, along the way, I met Marcelina here,” he nods behind Geralt where the bruxa lays still, “and she seemed taken by the sad sap singing of heartbreak at a tavern in Pont Vanis and took me to bed. I had no idea just what I was getting into bed with, but you know me.” His lips tug up into a sheepish smirk.

“Never could keep your sausage out of the wrong pantry,” Geralt returns dryly. The pressure on the knife lessens. 

Jaskier lets out a sharp laugh in surprise, “Right. Well, things got carried away, and the next thing I know, I’m holed up in a dark cellar struggling through the change alone. Marcelina came to check on me only once it was done. She promised to have revenge on the one who broke my heart once I had learned to control my thirst. I couldn’t escape her, she terrified me. Of course, I never wanted revenge. I knew why you said what you said. And while it wasn’t right or fair to me, I knew you were only lashing out in your own heartbreak. I could never wish you harm, my dear witcher.”

A spasm of guilt passes through Geralt, his eyes shuddering with it. He feels Jaskier’s hands fall on his shoulders with a comforting pat. He finds the act ironic. He should be the one comforting Jaskier. For not being there. For sending him away in the first place. 

The knife falls to the ground as he sweeps Jaskier up in a tight hug, his nose nuzzling into the man’s neck, inhaling the scent of chamomile and the lemon oil he used on his lute, as he shook with the relief to have his bard back. Arms come up around his neck to hold him tighter, hands curl in his hair and a nose pressed into his collarbone. They stayed like that for how long, neither was sure. 

It was Jaskier who broke the hug up first. “Uh, Geralt, not that this isn’t incredible and we should really discuss this newfound intimacy, but Marcelina is getting back up.”

Oh, the bruxa. Geralt curses.

He spins back around to face the vampire, hand itching to reach for his sword. “Jaskier, sword!”

“Right!” Jaskier shouts back, darting behind the table and unsheathing his silver sword before tossing it to him. Geralt tries not to think about how the last time he saw Jaskier, he could barely run with his lute on his back.

The witcher squares off against the bruxa who is crouching into an attack position. Her mouth begins to open into what was sure to be a horrible, debilitating scream, but Geralt quickly casts Quen, deflecting the scream from reaching him.

He casts another one as the bruxa roars in frustration, dashing forward to attack him head-on. Now, normally Geralt went into a battle with bruxa with a lot of potions. Here, he isn’t given the luxury. Bruxas are dangerous. Dauntless, agile, fast, and impervious to most attacks. Silver is the best thing for defeating them, but getting close enough to one or getting the jump on them is next to impossible.

Geralt takes a swipe at the bruxa’s head as she lunges forward, her claws coming within an inch of his face before she’s rearing back from the sword. 

Jaskier is fidgeting off to the side of the room. “Oh, dear. C’mon, Geralt, you brute.” Was he trying to help?

The bruxa screeches as she spins on the bard. Jaskier has the good grace to at least blanche at bringing the bruxa’s attention onto himself. His hands come up placatingly as he backs himself up against the wall and she steps closer. 

Never one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, Geralt takes the opportunity to attack her flank with her distraction. She senses his movement and sidesteps his swing, but she’s not fast enough to completely miss the sword. It slices through her arm and a shriek reverberates off the stone walls, leaving his ears ringing. 

He barely gets his arm up to stop her counterattack in time, her claws still catching on and digging in through his armor. “Fuck!”

“Geralt!” Geralt looks up and Jaskier is throwing him a torch. He spares a thought of, _Really?_ Before he’s catching the sconce and shoving it in bruxa’s face. 

She howls in pain and retreats. Geralt doesn’t let up, advancing on her still with one hand waving the torch and the other wielding a sword. He’s sure the bard could wax poetic about this fight, will mostly turn it into his next ballad if given the chance. The thought spurs Geralt on, wanting an end to this so that they could finally talk. 

Jaskier’s captor and creator, Marcelina, finding herself backed into the corner, let out an incapacitating scream that brought Geralt to a halt. The torch and his sword clatter to the ground as he makes a feeble attempt to cover his ears, his vision already whited out. Before he’s able to lift his hands to send Quen her way, he hears something akin to a hiss and then the sound of bodies hitting the floor.

_That idiotic bard-_

Geralt growls, blinking his eyes until his vision returns. When his amber eyes finally focus, he sees Jaskier on top of the bruxa with the dagger Geralt had dropped earlier pressed into her neck. He’s obviously struggling against the strength of the bruxa trying to hold him off her. The bard is still newly turned and obviously not used to his new abilities, nor has he ever had to fight like this before.

“Geralt,” Jaskier grinds out, pulling Geralt from his momentary state of shock at seeing the two vampires roll on the floor, fighting for dominance. “A little help here!”

“Fuck,” the Witcher bit out, reaching for his sword. He bumps the bard off with a kick of his foot, then swings his sword down once Jaskier is out of the way. The bruxa’s head goes rolling with a spray of blood. The bard lets out a noise of disgust as he’s splattered with it. 

“Ugh, nothing ever really changes, does it?” 

Geralt feels the twinge of a smile at his friend’s usual antics. Relief courses through him as it’s over. Their eyes meet and they share a smile for a brief moment before Jaskier’s face shutters closed. Geralt’s face pinches with confusion.

“Jask, what is it?”

The bard lets out a deep sigh, moving onto his knees before the Witcher. “Geralt, I know what you have to do, and I just want you to know that I don’t hold it against you. I never would.” Blue eyes look up at him imploringly. 

His head tilts to the side, “Jaskier, what are you talking about?”

“I was turned into a bloodthirsty monster, Geralt. I’ve killed people. Obviously, I would never want to hurt anyone - unless their name is Valdo Marx - but it did happen.” He shudders with a memory Geralt doesn’t know. “After I was turned, she left me in the cellar for several days before letting in some poor sap. The absolute carnage that befell him was wholly undeserved,” he shook his head. “After that, I slowly was able to come back to myself, but his body still haunts me. I vowed to control my thirst after that, knowing it was a hopeless cause. The thirst can be so… unquenchable some days, it’s hard to control it. I know I’ll slip one day and you’ll regret not having done it now before I was able to hurt anyone else.

“So,” Jaskier clears his throat and sits up straighter, chin jutting out in what could be defiance, “my White Wolf, I would be eternally grateful if you would end it now. That way I don’t have to see you stare down at me with disappointment when I inevitability slip up.”

There’s a beat. Then a silver sword falls to the ground with a loud clatter, knees falling down beside them as Geralt drops to meet Jaskier at eye level. His hand reaches up to cup the Jaskier’s cheek and his heart warms as the bard leans into the touch with a soft whimper. 

“If I killed you now, who’d sing my praises throughout the Continent then?” The Witcher finds himself smiling affectionately at his fool of a bard as he chuckles wetly.

“I figured you’d have some peace and quiet, finally.” 

“No,” Geralt shakes his head softly. “I’ve found peace and quiet to be overrated without a certain bard to interrupt it.” 

Jaskier huffs out another laugh. “You know, I was quite cross with you.”

“You don’t say,” the Witcher tilted his head with a wry smile. 

The bard rolls his eyes. “Marcelina heard me composing that song, which was more so from her perspective of holding me captive than about you, but you know I love writing songs that could apply to many situations in my life. I think in some weird way, she loved me,” he pursed his lips in thought. “Almost like a pet, I’d say. And she couldn’t handle the thought of someone having broken my heart, which was what originally attracted her to me. She wanted revenge, but I saw it as an opportunity to have my White Wolf come rescue me from her grasp.”

“And the wheel?” Geralt asks incredulously. 

“Ha, yeah that was all her idea. I know I can be quite into theatrics, but even I wouldn’t have thought of that. Apparently, the clan she used to run with used this castle to play with their food. She ‘suggested’ we come here to enact our revenge and I played along. The knives were my idea, though.”

Geralt growls, his eyes narrowing, “Jaskier, you aimed at my cock.”

The bard has the decency to look bashful. “In my defense, I had gotten quite good over the years at throwing knives. I still have the dagger you gave me when you found out I didn’t carry one with me when we parted ways. I used to throw it at trees to practice my aim. Melitele knows I wouldn’t be able to use it for close quarters, so it was better to not let it come to that. Besides, I needed some way to get you freed from the wheel. She would not budge from using the wheel to torture you. So you should be thanking me.”

Geralt can only match the smirk in return. Jaskier’s face grows solemn in the silence once more. 

“I really did mean it, Geralt. It’s bound to happen, a day where I slip up and take an innocent’s life.”

“Jask,” the Witcher sighs, bringing their foreheads together. He hears the bard’s breathing hitch at the contact. “I’m so,” his face twists, “sorry I wasn’t there for you. I should have never sent you away.”

Hands come up to curl in his hair, keeping him in place. “But you did, and I forgive you. You couldn’t have stopped my wandering eye from falling into bed with a bruxa. How was I to know?”

“I would have known,” the Witcher nearly growls again. “And you wouldn’t have been in her bed if I had gotten my head out of my arse sooner.” 

“Ger,” Jaskier is cut off with lips meeting his own, effectively answering the question he was going to ask. Geralt pulls away after a moment with a hum, pressing their foreheads together once more.

“I will not kill you when I’ve just gotten you back, Jask. You do not deserve it, nor will I hold you at fault if you do slip up one day. We will work through this and find a way to live with this new you. Is that understood?” The Witcher pulls back just far enough to meet the bard’s eyes, searching for that understanding.

Jaskier can only nod pointedly before he’s pulling him in again for another kiss. The chaste kiss from before is forgotten quickly as this one turns hungry, their mouths opening to devour each other. Jaskier’s pointed canines knick Geralt’s bottom lip and he lets out a delighted moan, scrambling into the Witcher’s lap excitedly while lapping at the wound he’d created. 

The newly turned bruxa quickly pulls back, eyes wide in horror at what he’d just done and lips red. “I’m so so-” 

Geralt cuts him off with another kiss, diving his tongue back into the bard’s mouth to coax him on. Jaskier doesn’t need prodding and returns to his previous ministrations, now rolling his hips in small circles. A growl escapes the Witcher and he’s pushing the bard off and onto the floor before pressing into him from above, coming to rest between his legs and spreading them wide. He begins kissing down Jaskier’s neck who arches and turns his head to allow him better access.  


Suddenly he’s being pushed back, “Ew ew ew, as much as I want to see this through, Geralt, perhaps we can find an inn. I’d rather not make love with a decapitated head watching us.” The Witcher turns his head to see where the bard was looking with pure disgust and finds the bruxa staring back emptily. That’s fair.

“Come,” he says, standing and offering a hand to the bard. Jaskier takes it, standing and wiping his pants down. “I’ve a room back in town. Ciri’s there now, you two can meet.”

“Ciri? You went and found your Child Surprise?” Jaskier is staring at Geralt in pure awe. 

“Yes, that’s what took me so long to find you,” Geralt grumbles, gathering their things together. He swings his swords back into place on his back. “We were on our way to Kaer Morhen when I picked up on some of your ‘clues,’” he sends a bemused look to Jaskier. 

The bard grins, “I knew you weren’t too thick in the skull to pick up on them.” 

“You weren’t exactly subtle, Jaskier,” Geralt sighs. “You left ‘I have your bard’ smeared on a wall in a basilisk’s cave - in blood.” 

“Well, it’d been a year by then,” Jaskier replies, picking up his lute. He meets Geralt at the door and leans in to steal a kiss. “I look forward to meeting your Child Surprise.”

Geralt tilts his head humorlessly, “Again, you mean.” The bard’s eyes widened. “Don’t look so shocked, Jaskier. When I came back from the basilisk hunt, she demanded to know what was wrong with me. She was very excited to hear that my bard was the very same who came to play her name day every year. Then she ripped me a new one for sending you away.”

Jaskier beams, “That’s my girl.”

The Witcher rolls his eyes in exasperation, moving from the doorway and down the hall. “Don’t make me regret not killing you when I had the chance.”

The bard runs to catch up and links their arms together, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

\---


End file.
